The day started okay. Much
like any normal day, no better no worse.
I always enjoy waking. It is not
that I am an early bird or especially chirpy in the morning it’s just the
thought of breakfast ever cheers. Our
printer is out of ink so my main task for today was to go to the ink cartridge
refill place on Malta and get a multitude of empty cartridges filled. Thus ensuring that at those critical moments
when you need to print out a boarding pass, receipt, report etc. the printer
actually works. For once, I wanted to be
organised and get a back up supply like normal people. So that when the ink runs down you just pull
open a drawer and grab a replacement.
The walk is not a pleasant one from Sliema to San Gwan. All traffic fumes and uneven paths, road works
and building dust. I reached the
printers office and got the refills though it took longer than I expected and
it meant there was not enough time to walk home to meet my appointment back in
Sliema. Checking with the staff there
the closest bus stop was at the main hospital, the Mater Dei, so I walked
briskly there. At the bus stop I used my
phone to call and explain my lateness.
As I spoke there was a surge of people around moving towards the
oncoming buses. I felt a bump on the
side and straightened up closing the phone.
Reaching in to my bag I searched for my purse to buy a ticket and found
the bag empty. My purse was
missing! I had those moments of
disbelief, followed by a sinking realisation that not only had I lost by bank
cards, my drivers licence, my Maltese ID card, all my money and even my
Canadian birth certificate. Then, that
bump as the crowd surged around me lodged in my head as the moment I had been
pick-pocketed. You feel a fool, a chump,
an easy target.
You also look around at
the people surrounding you with new eyes.
Instead of bonhomie you scan the faces searching for the villain. Helplessness kicked in when I realised that I
could not even afford the 1.50 euro bus fare.
I did not have a penny/cent.
Deciding to report the theft to
the local police station in San Gwan I did some more walking. All the time, wondering if the thieves were
ordering things online with my card?
Were they having a meal on my money?
Laughing at their success as they went shopping for luxuries on Amazon,
booking hotels, trips etc.
Reporting the event in the police station was not a rewarding
experience. Everything is done on
computer and it was worrisome that the policewoman was a slow keyboard
operator, asking advice from colleagues, getting me to repeat details. The form to be filled in was endless and
suddenly I wanted to be home cancelling my cards not here watching two fingers
laboriously type. Eventually, they gave
me a number on a torn out piece of paper.
I presume if you are a tourist on holiday your insurance expects such
numbers. I have to confess I was hoping
for an alert officer a bit like Inspector Morse who would be instantly on the
case. Perhaps, checking out CCTV footage
at the hospital, sending an undercover officer to study the incident
scene. I know, I know it wasn’t
realistic but one hopes.
When you have been the victim of a crime you feel forlorn, abused
and the police you hope are on your side.
The reality the world over is that they are going through the motions. It is their job to record, put things on
paper and file. They know the
pointlessness of it all but it is their job.
I asked at the close of our meeting if I could get a lift home to
Sliema. No, they couldn’t but they could
order a taxi for me. I pointed out that
the past hour had been all about the fact that my purse had been taken and that
I couldn’t afford bus fare never mind a taxi.
To be sure I had walked all the way from Sliema to San Gwan but losing
my purse had drained me of all energy.
To contemplate the long dusty walk back, recalling the event, feeling
useless and stupid seemed intolerable.
But walk it, I did and each step I felt peculiar, as if I really just
wanted to burst into tears. Strange
emotions running wild, surfing on an anxiety about the bank cards.
When things go bad, you suddenly know that
other bad things can happen too.
Anything is possible. All sorts
of things that would never have jumped into your head are now there. The very same people I passed on the way up
now appeared much more ominous and threatening going down. Instead of just looking sullen they looked
dangerous. I was glad to get home and
get online and cancel cards. Relieved to
find no one had ordered widescreen TVs or run up debts. Just happy to know the limit of my
losses. It feels strange. I have absolutely no energy. If I were an apple it’s like someone took the
core out of me. Ah well, silly to make a
fuss of it. One lives and one
learns. I had grown too relaxed in my
habits. People are usually so honest on
islands, it sometimes needs a shock like this to wake you up to the real
world. This article caught my eye in the
local press.
Elite pickpockets target bus commuters! It appears these things happen more
frequently that I thought. One victim
lost £500 from illicit use of her card.
When I phoned through to my bank to block my card it was the boredom and
slowness of the operator that distressed me.
Of course they are just doing their job but it seems crime is so common
we have all become rather blasé about the whole business. Victims want something back. A listening ear, even pretended concern would
help, a bit of courteousness or sensitivity would go a long way. One feels stupid enough already without
dismissive boredom. If solving crime, capturing
the villain, is so tricky perhaps we could train our police to be a source of
comfort and reassurance to the victims of crime, as a basic minimum?
Years ago I visited a dear couple on Rhodes who lived in a farm in a
lovely valley. As we sat under their
fruit trees I complained that I never got birthday cards. My husband pointed out rightly that I never
remembered to send them so why should others bother? Since my birthday had passed I was surprised
when our hostess disappeared and then came back and presented me with a bag of
her jewellery as a gift. I was shocked
and reluctant to take it but she insisted it was only cheap jewellery and she
would be happy for me to have it. It
looked lovely and the colours attractive, with rings, necklaces and bracelets
of all kinds. It was so typical of these
lovely pensioners to be so giving.
Imagine my horror to learn the next week that they had been robbed and
they had lost so much including even clothes from their wardrobes and most of their valuables. But on talking to them
subsequently, I learned that they had been robbed the day before we called. They just didn’t want to ruin our visit by
mentioning it. The reason her bag
contained only cheap jewellery was because the thieves had taken her best. To be kind and generous at such a time of
stress and loss takes real nobility.
So I will shut up about my day and leave you all in peace. Life teaches us many lessons and there are
times when you just have to suck it in and respond with whatever goodness you
have left in the tin.
